Unspoken
by The Slytherin Songbird
Summary: For fifteen years, Phoenix Wright searched for the boy that he'd befriended in fourth grade. And on December 28th, 2016, he found him again, and this time, there's no way he's letting him go. NaruMitsu undertones. One-shot. Set after the conclusion of the Robert Hammond trial.


Miles Edgeworth wasn't exactly certain what he was even doing here in the first place.

If he were being perfectly honest, a part of him missed his cold, empty cell when he looked around at the bustling, energetic room in which he was currently standing, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black woolen overcoat, attempting in vain to appear much more at ease than he inwardly felt. The Wright and co. Law Offices were full of life tonight, the air electric with an almost palpable sort of energy that he couldn't quite name. The room was dimly, warmly lit, with a giant, ostentatious banner declaring in bold, glittering letters "VICTORY!" hanging over the office entryway. The air hung heavy with the steady, droning buzz of intermingled conversations, with an occasional laugh or exclamation rising just enough above the din to be recognizable. Through a nearby window, Miles could see that the sky was inky black, and he wasn't certain if the little yellow splotches of light were from the street lamps outside or just the light from the lamps and candles inside the office being reflected onto the glass.

As his steel gray eyes impassively searched the room, Prosecutor Edgeworth was struck with mild disbelief at just how many people had turned up to supposedly celebrate today's victory in court. All these years, he'd striven to keep those around him at a distance, and he'd been under the impression that he'd unequivocally succeeded; how could it be, then, that so many seemed so concerned for his fate? Bemusement settled on his shoulders, heavy as bricks, and he fought the urge to visibly shake his head as he looked over the crowd scattered across the office. The vast majority of these faces belonged to those who had believed in him from the start, and still he was left scrambling to comprehend _why_. What reasons had he ever given for them to so stalwartly trust in him, fight for his well-being, when for so long he had kept them all at arm's length?

 _Baffling,_ he thought with a disdainful scoff, grateful for the fact that the sound was disguised by the cacophony of voices around him, all trying to speak at once. _Truly baffling, all of it._

He was scarcely given enough time to attempt to think it all over before a pair of thick, heavy hands came down hard upon his shoulders, enough to jostle him slightly forward, eyes bulging in shock as he did so. Thankfully, he quickly regained his footing and righted his posture once again, saving himself the embarrassment of a stumble before turning on his heel to properly face his assailant. He wasn't at all surprised to find that it was none other than Detective Gumshoe, just as clumsy and lacking in self-awareness as ever, enormous grin meandering onto his whiskered face. His tattered Criminal Affairs coat was slightly disheveled, a tad lopsided where it ought to have rested comfortably on his shoulders, and there was a rosy glow to his cheeks that suggested that he had been drinking.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" he exclaimed in a voice that was half laughter, half a relieved sigh. It seemed that it still hadn't quite registered with the good detective that the DL-6 Incident had been resolved on such a positive note; they'd left the courthouse hours ago, and he still seemed as windswept as though he'd just stepped off a particularly violent roller coaster. "Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you out of that cell! I'm gonna be honest with you, pal – I thought you were a goner!"

A pained grimace threatened the corners of Edgeworth's thin mouth, and he fought to change it instead to a doleful smirk. "Hmph. Indeed," he said at last, the low murmur of his voice very nearly mixing in with the sound of people talking around him.

If Edgeworth's clipped response had had any sort of effect upon the detective, it didn't show. He simply chuckled and gave the prosecutor another unnecessarily forceful clap on the back, saying, "I tell ya, I sure do owe Mr. Wright a lot for this! I just knew he'd come through for you in the end!" He paused, then looked at Miles as if just now completely registering his identity and thought to add, "Hey, uh, so how are you feeling, anyway, sir? You holding up okay?"

 _In a manner of speaking – I have undoubtedly seen better days,_ he thought spitefully, gritting his teeth to keep those harsh words from leaping from his mouth. "Just fine, Detective, thank you," he replied at last in his usual calculated, composed tone of voice, grateful beyond all else that the true extent of his vexation was not showing through in his words. "I will be faring much better, I expect, when all this commotion dies down a bit." He waved his hand in an almost absentminded gesture at the crowd that surrounded them in order to emphasize his point.

"Yeah, it really is something, isn't it, sir?" Gumshoe replied, rubbing the back of his neck with the broad palm of his massive hand. "I guess it could be a little overwhelming, what with all you've been through in the past couple days. But hey, better to be here than the alternative, right, pal?"

To his credit, the detective at least sounded as though he were making an effort to be sympathetic. And if it weren't for Gumshoe's efforts in this case, things could have turned out a great deal differently for him in the long run, he knew; he'd helped Wright the entire way, after all, and much as he proved to get on Miles' last nerve, there was something terribly wrong with the idea of ignoring all that the man had done just for his sake. At this realization, Edgeworth sighed and allowed the tension to fall ever so slightly from his shoulders, his facial expression losing a fractional amount of its usual chilly aloofness. To many, it wouldn't have been a significant change, but on a permanently dour face like Miles', even the tiniest hint of relaxation made all the difference, turned him from someone cynical and angry to the man he'd always had the potential to be, quiet but thoughtful and supremely fair.

"Hm. Just so," Edgeworth said, even going as far as to allow a mild breath of laughter to escape through his nose. A thinly amused little smirk curled up at the corners of his mouth – the closest thing to a smile that he had allowed in fifteen years. "At the very least, if I am lacking for enthusiasm, then everyone else appears to be enjoying themselves in my stead."

Now it was the detective's turn to look around at the rest of the office's current occupants, though where the sheer amount of people had left Edgeworth befuddled and filled with a nervous tumult in the pit of his stomach, Gumshoe only seemed all the more thrilled by the prospect. _Honestly, the way he's conducting himself, one would almost believe he had been the one acquitted of two counts of murder_ , Edgeworth observed dryly with an arch of his eyebrows. Though, to be completely frank, he had to admit that it was at least nice that someone was deriving some form of enjoyment out of this entire setup, if Miles himself wasn't.

"Yeah! Everyone's really grateful to Mr. Wright for what he did," said Gumshoe. It seemed that he'd hardly taken note of Edgeworth's internal amusement at his expense. "And who can blame 'em? I knew all along that if anybody could do the job, it'd be him. That one believes in his clients, even when everything else around him tells him that he shouldn't!" There was a moment's pause, during which Detective Gumshoe looked over Edgeworth, at last seeming to take in his general discomfort. "Hey, sir, why aren't you celebrating with us? It might do you good to loosen up a little!"

The suggestion was made with only the best intentions at heart, he knew, and yet, for whatever reason, Edgeworth found that it vaguely irritated him. Of all the things he should have been feeling tonight, a perpetual sense of aggravation should not have been one of them; and yet, in the midst of all the relief, the thankfulness that at last, after fifteen years, he finally had some form of closure, he couldn't help but be the slightest bit annoyed by this entire display. It was no one's fault but his own, he supposed. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, tense and heavy-hearted, to at last know the truth behind his father's demise, he wanted nothing more than to be alone and think it all over for himself. Today, he'd essentially discovered everything he'd always thought to be an established truth little more than a carefully-constructed series of lies, and while everyone else might have felt like celebrating, Miles felt the farthest thing from triumphant. His father was dead, and for all those years, Miles had blamed himself mercilessly for Gregory Edgeworth's murder, even forcing himself to become a prosecutor in order to pay recompense for his imagined crimes, and now what did he have to show for it? His mentor, the man whose word he had taken as law for years, was in jail, having been the true perpetrator all along. Were the entire thing not so distressing, he would have felt the compulsion to laugh at the absurdity, the irony of it all.

"Yes, well . . . your concern is touching, Detective, but hardly necessary," Edgeworth concluded at last, the harshness of his words diluted by the near-imperceptible flash of sharp, sardonic humor in the prosecutor's eyes, accompanied by a rueful smirk. "As it so happens, I'm afraid there are yet a great many things that require my attention, not the least of which being that I still need to return to the Detention Center and fill out a few documents pertaining to my release. That said, I may very well need to leave a bit earlier than anticipated anyway."

At this, Gumshoe looked almost as disappointed as if _he_ were the one that would be missing the rest of the night's events. "Ah . . . well, if you say so, sir," he said with a sigh, slumping his shoulders and looking remarkably like a crestfallen puppy. "Geez, though, I really do hate that you have to miss out on your own party! Maybe we can all get together and do something else later, then? I'd pay for dinner, but, uh . . . well, you know. My salary's not looking the best this month."

"As truly . . . _compelling_ an offer as that is, I will unfortunately have to refuse, Detective Gumshoe," Edgeworth responded, hoping to dismiss _that_ idea as quickly as possible. As painful as this particular get-together had been thus far, he could only imagine the horrors that another one would entail for him. "In any case, I should think the myriad of assistance that you provided Mr. Wright throughout the events of this case should more than suffice – I could not think to ask you to do any more on my behalf." He supposed that sounded a great deal more diplomatic than just plainly stating that he wanted nothing more to do with these ridiculous parties – not for some time, anyway.

If he weren't mistaken, Edgeworth could have sworn that the good detective was blushing. "H-heh – hey! You really think that, sir?" When Miles gave a curt nod of his head in response, Gumshoe's face lit up, an almost childlike pride in his large brown eyes. "Aw, gee, pal, it really was nothing! Nothing at all! I-I was glad to do it, sir!" A laugh, belly-deep and strong, lifted itself from the back of the detective's throat, and sheepishly, he yet again lifted his hand to massage the back of his neck. "Well, listen – I won't hold you up too much longer, then. If you've gotta get going, I understand. But it sure was good to see you outta that cell again, Mr. Edgeworth."

"Yes," replied Edgeworth, "and it is certainly a pleasure to _be_ free. Now, if you will, excuse me, I'm afraid I must be on my way."

"Yeah. Have a good night, sir," said Detective Gumshoe, thinking to punctuate his sentence by giving a wave of his right hand, stuffing the left into his coat pocket.

"And the same to you, Detective."

Scarcely had the words left his mouth than did Miles Edgeworth turn on his heel and head briskly in the direction of the office's front door. In truth, he had no intention of visiting the Detention Center tonight – their hours of operation had long ended, and everything that required his attention could very easily be taken care of tomorrow morning, but he'd been rather desperate for an excuse to escape this gathering as early as possible. The last thing that he needed at the moment was all this noise and fanfare, especially when he still could hardly comprehend what had happened in court earlier; he understood that the intentions behind this idea were nothing but positive and well-meaning, but all the same, he'd never been one for this sort of carefree behavior, anyway.

He hadn't been in quite such a sulky mood _all_ evening, though – in fact, in the first few hours following his acquittal, he'd felt rather up to celebrating, himself. The day's events had been such a whirlwind that he'd hardly known what to do with himself when everything at last had come to an end, and learning of his innocence of a crime he'd believed himself to have committed all these years had lifted such an unbearable weight from his shoulders that he'd been left with a strange, uncontrollable giddiness; what _could_ he have done, but join in the festivities, even if it were in his own slightly aloof, awkward sort of way? For the first time in fifteen years, he'd felt so light, so . . . to borrow a term from Detective Gumshoe, _free_.

As the afternoon had dragged into night, however, his thoughts had gradually returned to the grimmer aspects of the day's trial, and suddenly that weightless feeling felt more like a thousand steel anvils sitting right on the center of his chest. Now that he knew the truth, he could be at peace with himself, true, and go on living his life with the comfort of knowing that he had not killed his own father; but now he was left to grapple with another matter entirely – the matter of coming to terms with the lie that he'd so wholeheartedly invested himself in all this time. He hadn't just followed Manfred von Karma's teachings, he'd treated them as his life's creed, he'd accepted them as doctrine and had used them to fuel the hate and bitterness that had thrived in his heart for so long. He'd made a name for himself as a fearsome, ruthless prosecutor willing to go to any lengths necessary to win a Guilty verdict, and all this time he'd believed the lies that von Karma had instilled in him about defense attorneys, about the law, about _everything_. And now that he no longer had that to reinforce his identity, his purpose in the legal field . . . what did he do? Where did he go from here?

These were matters that he needed time to mull over alone, not in the presence of Wright and anyone else that he'd deigned to invite over to his office tonight. It was hardly in Edgeworth's nature to attend any sort of party for too terribly long, anyway – even one that did concern his own acquittal.

As he searched for the front door, he made a turn down a narrow hallway, buffeted slightly to the side and nearly knocking over a potted plant in the process by a figure that he'd walked by too quickly to recognize, but appeared to be wearing green and sporting a head of enormously curly red hair. As he caught himself and corrected his posture, taking a brief pause to adjust his cravat, his eyes fell upon another silhouette crouched against the far right corner of the corridor wall. Miles squinted, and as he drew nearer, he could see that it was a young woman, long dark hair tied half up in a knot, the rest flowing down around her shoulders like silky curtains. He could see that she was slim, though most of her body disappeared beneath the folds and wrinkles of the robes she was wearing. A mysterious stone tied onto a necklace rested at the hollow of her throat. In her lap sat a notebook with words scrawled halfway across the page, and she twiddled a pen in her right hand, deep in thought.

 _Maya Fey_ , he found himself thinking, her identity at last registering with him. He'd never been the best with names, particularly when they belonged to defense attorneys – old habits – but he was very unlikely to forget her, of all people. For the longest time, he'd come to think of her as simply a vapid little girl who traipsed alongside Wright and fed him the answers when he needed them – a thoroughly ridiculous person in general – but even he had to admit that he now held a great deal more respect for her following what she did for him during the events of the first day of his trial. Even when it seemed that von Karma had the trial in his pocket, Maya had stood up for him, and though her actions were brash and certainly not the route he would have taken under threats of contempt of court, he was grateful nonetheless. (Though of course, he'd sooner die a thousand deaths than admit to as much aloud.)

He couldn't help but notice that she appeared slightly dejected at the moment. "Miss Fey," he greeted a bit stiffly, clearing his throat at the end of his sentence and glancing somewhat awkwardly off to the side. It seemed that after fifteen years of distancing himself from others, even simple socialization and small talk would be an arduous task.

At the sound of her name, she looked up, her facial expression registering mildest surprise. When she made eye contact with Edgeworth, she gasped and endeavored at a smile, but her youth failed her. There was a melancholy in her eyes that he had never seen on her before; it looked alien, unfamiliar on her usually chipper features. "Oh, hey there, Mr. Edgeworth," she said at last, tone of voice just as upbeat as always, despite her contradictory body language. "Are you enjoying the party?"

He gave her a quick once-over, all the while thinking, _every bit as much as you are, apparently._ "Well enough, I suppose," he answered at last, doing his best not to be overly blunt, knowing entirely well his tendency towards harshness, particularly in situations like these where he already felt out-of-place. "And what of yourself? I hardly took you for the type to hide in the corridor while the party is held elsewhere." It was a wild stab in the dark towards conversation, the words stilted and heavy as they left his lips, but the fact that he was actually making an _effort_ to be cordial spoke volumes to the effect that his acquittal had already had upon his personality.

"Oh," she responded, her voice an uncharacteristically nervous little breath of air, halfway between a laugh and a weary sigh. "Well, no, I guess I'm not, usually, but, uh . . . I think I'm probably just feeling a little tired. We had an exciting day in court earlier, after all. A-and I'm, um, writing Nick something, so I thought it would be best to do it in private." Only now did she gesture to the notebook, though it seemed that she still didn't wish to disclose precisely what she had written. (Not that it mattered – Edgeworth was just on his way to leave, after all.)

"I see." There was another long, pregnant beat of silence, and just when the quiet atmosphere between the two of them had started to become uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and added, "Yes, well, you certainly are not the only one who has grown weary of this environment. I'm afraid I must be off, as well."

The smile on Maya's face seemed more genuine now, her palms lifted at level with her chest and pressed neatly against each other. "Good for you, Mr. Edgeworth. Go ahead and get a good night's sleep – you definitely deserve it. I'll tell Nick that you had to leave a little early, so don't worry about all that." The prosecutor gave her a nod, taking her word and turning to leave once and for all, but was stopped abruptly by the sound of her voice from over his shoulder. "Oh, and . . . I'm really happy that everything worked out for you in the end. I always knew you were innocent."

A sudden swell of unnamable emotion made itself known in the pit of his stomach, rising like bile into the back of his throat, and Edgeworth swallowed hard to keep it down. He'd fought these feelings for fifteen years, believing them to be weaknesses, inefficiencies written into the human design, but he was a fool to have so staunchly invested in the idea that anybody would be capable of keeping them at bay forever. Much as he loathed to admit it, he was no more powerful and no more in control – even of himself – than anyone else, and as a result, had to finally allow himself the freedom to feel things. He looked at Maya Fey and wanted desperately to thank her, to properly express just how much her faith in him had meant all this time, and yet the moment he opened his mouth to convey those thoughts, the words seemed to die on his tongue, lifeless and brittle.

Instead, he settled with, "I . . . appreciate your concern, Miss Fey." Even he had to resist the urge to cringe at how lame and empty the words sounded.

Maya didn't seem too deterred, though; in fact, not long after he'd spoken, she actually laughed in response. The sound was not unkind, though, and the grin on her face diluted any harshness or mean-spirited nature that could have been interpreted from the gesture. "You've still got a long way to go, huh? Hey, don't worry – it might take a while, but you'll get there. Soon enough, opening up to people will be just like nothing!"

It was meant to be a statement of friendly encouragement, he knew, but all that it accomplished was to fill his stomach to the brim with dread. For the vast majority of his adult life, he'd nursed a healthy fear of the idea of opening up to someone, had viewed it rather like being laid out flat on a surgical table, while an impassive observer sliced you open and then you were splayed out for all the world to see. Perhaps to people like Maya Fey and Phoenix Wright, such a thing wasn't quite so daunting, but to Edgeworth, nothing was more horrifying than allowing another person that close. He'd always been baffled by the fact that wearing one's heart on one's sleeve could come so easily, so naturally to everyone around him, while it was the one thing he'd always guarded against. There was nothing he hated quite so much as such a blatant lack of control.

More bemusing still was the fact that, in order to accomplish the challenge that Maya had set before him, he would need to abandon fifteen years' worth of work in the opposite direction. Beneath all the initial confusion and the need, the _want_ to change, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit frustrated, looking back at his life and knowing that all along, everything he'd thought to be right actually couldn't have been more consummately wrong. Unfortunately, he'd never been a man renowned for stunning levels of patience, and this particular case appeared to be no exception to that rule.

"Perhaps," he conceded at last, figuring that the very least he could do would be to act as if he believed in himself far more than he actually did, if only to match her fervor. "I suppose that much remains to be seen. In any case, regardless of how that may turn out, you have . . . been an immeasurable help to me all this time and for that, you, er . . . have my gratitude." Maybe one day he would be able to say that over again, and have it sound much less forced. "Good night, Miss Fey."

Without waiting for a reply from Maya, who still seemed perfectly shocked that he had managed to thank her at all, he made his way outside, thankful beyond anything else when the cool night air hit his face at last. His footsteps crunched against the pavement as he strode briskly to the far end of the short driveway, smoke coming from between his parted lips like puffs of dragon's breath before it curled and wafted away in the chilly winter breeze.

Now, _this_ was what he needed – peace, quiet, and at last, the chance to give some thought to the entire day's events.

"Uh . . . hey, Edgeworth!"

Miles tensed, as though someone had just thrown an entire bucket of ice down the back of his shirt. It seemed that whatever moments of contemplation he could gather for himself tonight were just destined from the start to be impeded on, doomed to end before they began. Still, he recognized the voice over his shoulder more than fairly well, and of all the people that could have intruded upon his privacy, at least it was this man and nobody else.

Edgeworth expelled a sigh, half exasperation and half exhaustion. "Wright." The word was little more than a thoughtful murmur, spoken without even turning back to face the interloper; yet, sure enough, mere moments later, the sound of footsteps followed him until at last, Edgeworth could see Phoenix Wright out of his peripheral vision standing just to his left.

"Maya told me you'd left," he said, gesturing with his thumb back to the office for a moment before turning to face the prosecutor once again, "but I kind of figured you'd be standing out here and looking morose all by yourself." A smile found its way onto Wright's face, the edges of his dark eyes crinkling ever so slightly, in a way Miles had never realized was actually familiar to him until now.

"Hmph," Edgeworth responded with an indignant sniff, lifting his chin in an imperious pose. "I wasn't aware that I would be disallowed from exiting the building once I had entered," he quipped.

Phoenix gave a nervous laugh, holding his hands at level with his chest in an expression of surrender. "H-hey, hey, easy," he said. "I just meant that if I were going to find you anywhere, it's more likely to be out here than in there. You, uh . . . you never really _were_ one for parties. Even when we were kids."

"Yes, well, you'll forgive me if I'm not in the most celebratory mood at the moment," replied Edgeworth, trying to keep his tone of voice from sounding _too_ pathetically sullen. During the measured quiet that followed, he glanced down at his feet, jaw working for a few moments as he searched for the words to properly express what he wished to say. At last, he sighed, squared his shoulders, and for the first time turned to properly face Phoenix, looking him directly in the eyes as he said, "I don't wish to appear ungrateful to you, Wright, but I'm afraid there are yet a great many things for me to think over. Things that cannot be chased away by festivities, however unfortunate that may be."

Phoenix relaxed, almost looking relieved, as if he'd anticipated a very different sort of response from Miles. "Hey, don't worry about it," he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're not. Coming off as ungrateful, I mean. I get it, I really do. I know all too well what it's like to stand up there and have everybody hurling accusations at you . . ."

His voice trailed off, and Edgeworth aimed a questioning glance in the defense attorney's direction, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. To be sure he wasn't referring to that class trial, of all things? It didn't _seem_ so – the pain in Wright's eyes was too genuine, too fresh, to be in regards to something that had happened _that_ long ago. And yet, if it was not that, then what? As far as he knew, Miles could never remember hearing about Phoenix himself being on trial or taking the witness stand (apart from the Redd White case, and he didn't think that was what it was about). What on Earth had he missed during all this time?

Just as he'd begun to mull it over, though, Phoenix seemed keen to change the subject. "Ah – anyway. What's next for you, then, Edgeworth? Anything on your to-do list now that all this mess is cleared up?"

The switch in their line of conversation was a jarring one. Edgeworth blinked, realizing that he'd never truly given himself the opportunity to think quite that far ahead; usually, he was a planner to a ridiculous extent, but upon his incarceration, he'd been all but certain that he would end up with a Guilty verdict, and thus hadn't even bothered to think of what might come next for him. As that much slowly dawned on him, he allowed a short breath of laughter to escape through his nose, the barest traces of amusement shining in the sharp, steely gray of his eyes.

"Return to work, I imagine," he concluded at last. "I suppose I will do my utmost to continue as normal, despite the fact that my superiors are in all likelihood less than keen on the idea of a once-suspected murderer returning to their offices – and as a practicing prosecutor, no less." He couldn't help the tinge of bitterness that had entered his voice; he'd faced rumors and inquiry committees for nearly as long as he'd been prosecuting, and those that had always suspected him now would have all the more reason to think ill of him. "The same thing could be asked of you, too, I hope you're aware," he pointed out after a moment's pause. "As I understand it, you _did_ happen to dedicate the vast majority of your legal studies and career to finding _me_ , did you not?"

Another laugh from Phoenix, this one decidedly more sheepish than the first, and Edgeworth looked over to see the man rubbing the back of his neck. "W-well, I mean . . . when you put it _that_ way, it sounds way crazier than it actually was!"

This statement earned an incredulous snort from Miles. "Oh?" he said, arching his eyebrows. "Is that right? And how would _you_ explain it, then, Wright?"

"Okay, well . . ." Phoenix seemed to mull this over for a full two minutes before answering. When he spoke, he turned his attention to Edgeworth, eyes dark and questing beneath the moonlight. "First of all, it's true that I became a lawyer because of you. And don't ask me to regret that, Edgeworth, because I don't – really, I don't. And it's because I believed in the things that you told me, all that time ago. That's why, when I heard about what happened to you, I knew I had to do something. I'd seen the good things you could do, Miles, and I didn't want all that to be lost forever. I looked for you – for fifteen years I looked for you, and even when you didn't answer my letters, I held out hope because I had to find you. And now that I finally have . . ." he gave a hapless shrug, as though he couldn't think of adequate words. "I'm just really glad you're okay, after all this time."

Swallowing hard, trying his best to appear as though he had a better idea of what to say than he actually did. What _could_ be said, after a speech like that? "Hmph . . . that's rather a melodramatic way of putting it, don't you think?" he concluded at last, shifting his gaze slightly to the side in order to disguise the fact that secretly, deep down, it had rather touched him.

"Maybe so," Phoenix agreed, nodding his head. At this, Edgeworth sighed and turned to leave, having decided that he had nothing more to say to the man, only to be stopped by the feeling of the defense attorney's fingers closing around his wrist. "Regardless of how you feel about it, though, can I just ask you a favor? Don't . . . disappear on me again, okay?"

Edgeworth went still, rigid against Phoenix's grip, the tension at last falling from his shoulders. Facial expression softening by just a fractional amount, at last he muttered, "Yes, well . . . after such a truly moving spew of emotion as that, how could I?"

There was a beat, and then Wright gave a laugh, now seeming much more akin to his usual upbeat self. No more words were exchanged between the two, but somehow, Edgeworth almost felt as if there was no need for them, anyway; in the silence of the night, for whatever reason, Miles could feel the words unspoken pass between them, a shared secret fifteen years in the making.


End file.
